“By no means,” said the painter, with an engaging smile, “it lies in your power to do me the greatest benefit. Do it, Caesar! It would be a joy to me to show that, though I have been reckless beyond measure, I am nevertheless a grateful man.”
“Grateful?” repeated Caracalla, with a cruel laugh. Then he rose slowly, and looked keenly at Alexander, exclaiming:
“I should almost like to try you.”
“And I will answer for it that you will never regret it!” Melissa put in. “Greatly as he has erred, he is worthy of your clemency.”
“Is he?” said Caesar, looking down at her kindly. “What Roxana’s soul affirms by those rosy lips I can not but believe.”
Then again he paused, studying Alexander with a searching eye, and added:
“You think me strong; but you will change that opinion—which I value—if I forgive you like a poor-spirited girl. You are in my power. You risked your life. If I give it you, I must have a gift in return, that I may not be cheated.”
“Set my father free, and he will do whatever you may require of him,” Melissa broke out. But Caracalla stopped her, saying: “No one makes conditions with Caesar. Stand back, girl.”
Melissa hung her head and obeyed; but she stood watching the eager discussion between these two dissimilar men, at first with anxiety and then with surprise.
Alexander seemed to resist Caesar’s demands; but presently the despot must have proposed something which pleased the artist, for Melissa heard the low, musical laugh which had often cheered her in moments of sadness. Then the conversation was more serious, and Caracalla said, so loud that Melissa could hear him: